


The first fall

by Iceaxx



Series: And they all fall down [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Feels, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Fluff, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Protective Derek, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceaxx/pseuds/Iceaxx
Summary: All Stiles wanted was some Ben & Jerry's for his Game of Thrones episode...





	1. All I wanted was some Ice Cream

Stiles slides his phone out of his back pocket, checking the time.   
It shows 20:57, which means he has just 3 minutes if he wants to make it home in time for the re-run of Game of Thrones.   
He had missed the original airing of the episode due to a blessing of Unicorns; _blessing my ass_ Stiles thinks.   
His pride still suffering after being locked in a glorified shed in the woods for most of the night, hiding from a grumpy Unicorn,   
who had not taken it nicely when Stiles had tried to pet its head.   
He guesses he should probably count himself lucky that he didn't end up stabbed by its horn, and all he suffered was a numb ass from sitting on a hard wooden stool for close to 10 hours. Before the Unicorn got bored and left, and Stiles could run back home, tail between his legs.   
_Stupid fucking Unicorns and their lack of respect for Game of Thrones Thursday!_ Stiles mumbles to himself.   
  
But honestly, if the Unicorns had been his only problem, that would have been just fine.   
But no, ontop of the whole Unicorn debacle, his dad had somehow managed do find Stiles' secret stash of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Peppermint Crunch a month ago.   
Which now means that Stiles has to go to the store all the way at the other side of town every time he wants some of the delicious Chocolaty peppermint treat.   
How his dad decided to open a box CLEARLY marked SPINACH, Stiles will probably never know.   
But he has a supicious feeling it has big puppydog eyes, a crooked jaw and answers to the name of Scott McCall.   
His dad however, pleads the 5th.   
  
This also wouldn't have been enough to ruin Stiles' mood, because driving to the other side of town for his favorite Ice Cream,   
to eat while watching his favorite Tv-show, he would do in a heartbeat.   
He had been about half way home from the store when it happened. First there was a wheezing sound, and then a clunk.   
And then his baby had stalled there, right in the middle of the road.   
Not even a warning, unless you count the endless rolls of duct-tape keeping her together.   
Stiles does not!   
40 minutes later Stiles finds himself watching the Jeep get towed away. Empty carton of Ice cream in his hand.   
  
3 minutes.   
He knows he wont make it in time, but at least if he hurries he will only miss a few minutes thanks to the insanely long and usually hated intro,  
that Stiles now finds himself very thankful for.   
He's just about to cross the road and take a shortcut through an ally, when something catches his eye.   
He whips around just as he steps off the curve, internally cursing his inability to walk like a normal person, as he feels himself fall.   
He flails gracelessly and just barely avoids braining himself on the bumper of a nearby car as he crashes down on the road hard.   
Stiles winces as he pushes himself back, planting his ass on the curb to get a better inventory of his injuries.   
His palms and knees seem to have suffered the worst of it.   
His palms have numerous small scrapes where he tried to catch himself when he fell, but they don't look too bad all things considered.   
His knees on the other hand is a different story. Both legs of his khakis have been ripped open at the knee and there is dirt and gravel imbedded in the torn skin underneath.   
The left pant leg has even started forming a wet spot in the fabric, where Stiles assumes he's going to need more than the usual Band-Aid.   
_Just bloody... heh... no pun intended.. great_ he thinks as he tries to get up, only to come crashing right back down on his hands and knees,   
yowling loudly in pain from where his right foot had just given in when he had tried to put any weight on it.   
He's pretty sure he must be crying, because he can taste salt on his lips, and he isn't sure if he dares to move again.   
Pain is radiating from what seems like everywhere, and he thinks he can hear someone call his name, but he dismisses it as his mind playing tricks on him in his pain induced haze.   
Stiles makes a semi concious decision that he can't just stay here on the ground for the rest of time. No matter how tempting the idea of never moving seems right now.   
But before he can put thoughts into action, something warm wraps around his chest and suddenly he's airborn.   
Swooped up bridal style by strong arms.   
He tries his best to keep his flailing to a minimum, not wanting to risk injuring himself further, nor smack his rescuer in the face and end up right back down on the ground again.   
  
_Oh yeah, the rescuer_ he remembers, turning his head, ready to sing the praises of 'the kindness of strangers',   
but finds his face mere inches away from the stubbly god of men; _or werewolves_ his mind supplies, that is Derek Hale.   
He lays there in the arms of Derek friggin' Hale, gaping, for what seems like hours,   
but in reality is probably more like a minute before he is shaken out of his state of awe by the sound of Derek's voice.   


"...iles!"   
  
Derek must have been trying to get his attention for a while if the concerned furrow of his eyebrows is anything to go by.   
And isn't that just a punch in the gut.   
Derek; big scowly, broody Alpha. Worried about him.   
Stiles Stilinski. The squishy token human, and sometimes comic relief.   
Stiles mind wanders, and he huffs a small laugh at the idea of Derek being worried about him.   
But looking up at Derek, his eyebrows have gone from his furrowed concerned to something Stiles can only consider as whimsical confusion.   


"Are you ok? Stiles? Of course you're not ok. Stupid Question Derek" Derek chastises himself under his breath, while Stiles keeps looking at him like he's growing a second head.   


"Did you hit your head? What happened? Did someone push you? Don't go to sleep ok, just don't."   
  
Dereks voice growing more and more frantic as he looks Stiles over.   
He can't smell any pain radiating from anywhere near Stiles head, but this IS Stiles, so he can never be too sure.   
The teenager is all long limbs and coltish clumsyness. An accident waiting to happen. Over and over again.   
  
"Cora pushed my cousin out of a treehouse when they were 8. The doctor told her not to sleep for 12 hours. She was human. Humans are fragile. You could have a concussion!"   
  
Derek keeps ranting.   
  
"Did you hit your head?"  He asks again.   
  
Stiles blinks. Once... Twice... Three times before the question registers.   
  
_Did I hit my head?_ he thinks, going over the previous events in his head, then shaking it.  
Too stunned by Dereks outburst to say anything.   
  
Derek schools his expression, feeling more calm, and embaressed by his panic. He can feel the tips of his ears turning pink, and gives Stiles a jerky nod. _  
Guess we're back to 'normal' then_ Stiles thinks.   
A small twinge in his heart making him wonder if he will ever get to see that side of Derek again.   
The one he keeps so well hidden that most don't even know its there. 

But Stiles know.  
  
He knows how Derek purposely always leaves doors ajar so that Isaac will never feel like he's being punished and locked away from his Alpha.   
  
He knows how Derek will drive all the way to the edge of Beacon County to stock up on Erica's favorite snacks from this small market place,   
and how he always makes sure to have heating pads ready the same date every month for her.   
  
And he also knows how Derek will always sit just a little bit closer to Boyd than he does to the rest of the pack,   
just to make sure Boyd doesn't forget that he belongs.   
  
So Stiles has most definitely seen this part of Derek before, but he has never been on the recieving end of it.   
And that just makes Stiles want to weep with joy, and maybe do a little dance.   
  
That is of course until he wiggles his leg a little and is brought back to the reality of his situation.   
He whimpers in agony and presses his face against Dereks chest, trying to hide the tears threatening to shed, from the Alpha.   
  
"I'm taking you to the hospital"   
  
Derek states as he starts to walk them towards where the Toyota is parked. 

And if he cradles Stiles a little closer, and soothes circles against the boy's arm with his thumb when he feels the tears seep through his henley.   
  
Well no one would be the wiser.

 


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek realizes something very important

The drive to the hospital was pretty uneventful.    
And on any other day, Stiles' might even go as far as to call it boring.  
But it was not any other day, and his head was reeling with a mix of awe and pain.  
To be honest it was probably more of a dull ache by now,   
courtesy of Dereks' werewolf pain-stealing mojo.    
So neither of them says a word the entire drive,   
but Stiles' is sure he can feel the Alpha sneak glances at him every now and then.   
Yet every time he turns his head to look,   
Dereks' eyes will be trained on the road and his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.   
  
Derek pulls up outside the Beacon Hills Memorial hospital, and is out of the car in an instant.   
Making his way over to the passenger side where Stiles is struggling to untangle himself from the seat belt.   
Seemingly loosing the battle.   
Derek watches him fumble for a few moments, before reaching over the slender form and gracefully unclipping the belt,   
effectively releasing Stiles from his restraints.   
  
Stiles makes a loud huff of annoyance.   
Folding his arms and glaring up at Derek.   
  
"I had that" he exclaims, as he starts to climb out of the Toyota,  
only to find himself picked up bridal style for the second time in what can't be more than the span of an hour.   
He squeaks undignified and automatically wraps his arms tightly around Dereks neck, wincing as he clasps his sore palms together.   
Glare still present as he flushes red, and his cheeks start to blotch.   
"I could have walked there Derek!"  
  
"I'd rather you not break any more bones before the doctor can see you."   
Derek keeps his voice steady and frowns slightly as he pushes the door to the emergency room open, making his way in.   
Stiles still cradled in his arms.   
  
"I'll have you know Sourwolf..."   
Stiles starts, probably feeling more safe as he unwraps an arm from around Dereks neck,   
effectively prodding his finger into Dereks sternum and proclaims;  
"Stilinskis don't break!"    
Making Derek raise an eyebrow in question.   
... "We may bruise, sprain or concuss... Maybe even a little bit of soft tissue damage.    
But even so, I have never ever broken a bone. And neither has my dad."   
A ever so small smile spreads on Stiles face, and he seems almost a little proud.   
"So like I said. Stilinskis don't break"   
Derek huffs, as he thinks back at all the things that Stiles has had to endure in his not even two decade old life,   
and he thinks it might just be true.   
Any sane person would have broken long ago.   
"I guess we can only hope..."   
He murmurs.   
  
And that is all he gets to say before they are swamped by nurses,   
and Stiles is being lifted out of his arms and placed on a gurney.   
Quickly being rolled away, past the thick fire-doors.   
  
Derek has to fight hard to calm himself enough to not growl in the face of the elderly nurse who ushers him back to the waiting area,   
placing a clipboard and a pen in his hands.   
Ordering him to fill it out.   
  
Then suddenly Derek is aware of how quiet it is.   
It's not really quiet, it is a hospital after all.   
But he can no longer hear the rapid tattoo that makes out Stiles' heartbeat.   
And the realisation of how the one sound he latches onto during the chaos,   
is that of a mouthy, loud teenagers heartbeat.   
A heartbeat you'd think would be drowned out with his incessant talking and obnoxious laughter.   
Yet still is the loudest sound in every room the boy sets foot in.   
  
Well, to Derek. That realisation is deafening.   
  
Because somewhere in between 6 feet tall lizards with paralytic venom in their tails,   
resurrected homicidal uncles and a 1000 year old Japanese fox spirit;   
  
Stiles Stilinski has become his anchor.  
  
Derek clutches the pen the nurse had handed him, staring down at the clipboard.   
  
"Birth name"   
He reads the first line out loud and nearly chokes on his own spit.  
The teen had inserted himself into Dereks' life over and over.   
Wanted or not. Proving time and again; that even human, fragile and oh so mortal.   
He would always have Dereks' back.   
  
And Derek...    
  
Well Derek couldn't even answer something as simple as 'Birth Name'.   
  
He drops his head to his hands. Clipboard and pen long forgotten and discarded on the floor.   
His wolf scratching at his insides, whining pitifully in his head.   
The itch to shift and run taking him over, and before he knows it,   
he is tearing out of the hospital parking lot, heading for the Preserve.   
  
His last conscious decision before giving in to the wolf, is shooting a text to Scott.   
  
'Stiles. Hospital'   
  
Then he shucks his jeans, swiftly shifting and taking off into the woods.  


	3. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek stops running

Stiles has no idea how long he has been poked and prodded by the time he is left alone in the sterile hospital examination room where they have stranded him. He keeps staring at his x-rays hanging on the lightboard on the wall.   
'Compound fracture', 'Surgery', 'Splints'  
He repeats the words in his head so long that they have no meaning. Maybe hoping if they no longer make sense, they will seize to be true.   
He had had to fill out the intake-form on his own, after a severely grumpy nurse had informed him that his friend had taken off without filling out the papers.   
He hadn't really expected Derek to stick around, but he still had hoped.   
Now the grumpy nurse was trying to get hold of his father, as Stiles himself only had insurance through his fathers position as Sheriff.   
Yet another thing for his dad to worry about because of him.    
Stiles feels his eyes start to fill with tears, and he hurries to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. Just in time too, because mere seconds later, the door bursts open and his father, Scott and Melissa piles into the room. For a while he looses himself in the haze of painkillers he has been given, and the buzzing chatter from the other people in the room. They are hugging him and fussing over him, and it feels settling in a way. He nods and shakes his head as best as he can to answer all their questions, but thankfully the doctor is here now too, explaining what course of treatment they will be taking. Stiles feels relieved. Words are just too hard to comprehend right now.   
  
After a while, his dad leaves the room with Melissa and the doctor, while Scott stays back with Stiles, waiting for them to take him up to prep him for surgery.   
  
"Dude! I thought you were dead! All I got was this cryptic text from Derek, and when I tried to call him he didn't pick up, and your phone went straight to voicemail"  Scott chides, pushing his phone right up into Stiles' face.   
And there it is, black on white, a message from Derek Hale; 'Stiles Hospital'.  
'huh' Stiles thinks, but before he can ponder what it might mean, Scott is pulling the phone away, slipping it into his pocket and dropping down onto Stiles' hospital bed.   
"What happened? Why is Derek the one to let me know you're in the hospital, and where the hell is he?" His eyes have gone softer, more concerned than outraged now.   
Stiles lip quirks up a little at the side. Scott has always been one for dealing with his worry by stressing and getting frustrated. At his worst points he can give even Stiles a run for his money with his incessant rambling. At least after the bite he no longer runs out of air half way through and collapses into an astmathic fit.   
  
"I fell?" He tries, giving Scott his best 'oopsie' expression. Not really ready to divulge the entirety of the situation before he himself has had the time to analyse what exactly had happened this evening.   
  
"And Derek?..." Scott pries.  
  
"He found me and drove me to the hospital." Stiles is sure if he wasn't on the really good kind of pain meds he would've cringed at his own shoddy explanation, but Scott is nodding, probably smelling how uncomfortable Stiles is and for once picking up on the social ques of when to stop asking. He'd feel proud of his best bro if he wasn't just so relieved not to explain any more.   
  
Scott's just opened his mouth to say something, probably to pry more, (because really, Scott is about as aware as a newborn kitten) when the grumpy nurse re-enters the room, a green hospital gown in her hands and a look that makes Stiles wonder why she's even decided on this line of work, when she so obviously hates people.   
She glares at Scott, and he quickly hugs Stiles goodbye before retreating out the door like a scolded puppy after being smacked with a newspaper.   
  
She places the gown on the table with a small cup containing 3 white pills.   
"Hurry up! We haven't got all night!" She says, tapping her foot like a sour school teacher as she closes the curtain around the bed.   
Yeah, Stiles can see it, she's like the female embodiment of Harris, and he shudders before quickly starting to strip. He doesn't want her coming back inside here to help him for taking to long on his own.   
Thankfully his shoes, socks and pants have been removed beforehand, not that that wasn't a painful process in itself, but at least it makes quick work of pulling his shirt and t-shirt off and pulling the hideous green gown over his head. He decides to leave his boxers on for now, figuring they should be easy enough to remove later if needed.   
  
As if summoned, Nurse Harris (oh god, he really shouldn't have made that connection) enters the curtained area again, placing a glass of water next to the cup of pills.    
"Take the pills and we can get you up into prep".  
  
Stiles grabs the glass and the small cup, filling his mouth halfway with water before tipping the pills in, and swallowing. He downs the rest of the water for good measure, putting both empty containers onto the table. The nurse looks almost content, and Stiles wonders for a second if she maybe just gave him some laxatives or something equally as wonderful for having disturbed her peaceful evening watch. Maybe she too missed Game of Thrones due to his clumsiness.   
  
His dad is in the hallway, and he walks next to the bed as Stiles is rolled up to the surgery prep. He strokes Stiles' cheek, and promises him that he will be here in the morning when Stiles wakes up. Stiles is feeling very drowsy when they reach their destination, and he smiles weakly and blushes when his dad leans down and kisses his forehead.   
  
"Love you kiddo" his dad says softly.   
  
"Love you too dad" Stiles returns, as he is pushed inside the room, his dad left standing out in the hallway, looking worse for wear.   
  
\---  
  
Trees, flowers, bushes and rocks are but a blur in his side vision as his huge paws thunder against the ground as he runs without aim, his mind clearing of all the distractions and trivial problems that comes with his human form. He feels like he is at one with the nature, just an extension of the dirt beneath his feet.   
  
It has gotten completely dark before he comes to a stop. He has been letting his senses guide him. The smell, the sense of calm, pulling him here like a pulsing light in the darkness.   
He takes in his surroundings, letting out a sad whine as he realises he finds himself standing below a window he has found himself sneaking in through on many many occasions since his return to Beacon Hills.   
  
His wolf has led him back here, to where the smell of his anchor is the strongest.   
  
To where his wolf has decided is 'home'.  
  
 

*****

  
Derek makes quick work of shifting back, looking around to make sure there are no one around, before scaling the house and jumping in through the half open window.   
  
The room is completely dark, but void of Stiles' heartbeat, so he makes his way to the door, turning the light on. Though this is where Stiles' smell is the strongest, it's slightly stale, like he hasn't been here all day, and Derek curses himself for freaking out and leaving Stiles at the hospital alone. He doesn't even have his phone to call and check up on the teen.   
  
He startles as he hears the door of the Sheriffs cruiser slam shut. 'how did he not hear it come down the road?' He hones his hearing, listening for Stiles' heartbeat, but only the Sheriff enters the house, before making his way to the study on the other side of the house. Pouring himself a glass of Whiskey, from what Derek can sense. He can't smell any distress or tears from the older man, so he lets himself breathe a little easier, knowing he would be able to tell if something serious was wrong with Stiles.   
  
Derek looks around the room for something that will fit him, stealing the pair of least ridiculous looking underwear from the drawer, a black pair of boxers with a nearly modest batman logo on the ass, before pulling on some lacrosse shorts that were hanging over the computer chair.   
He searches through Stiles collection of graphical tees, almost ready to call it quits and put on that ridiculous blue and orange number Stiles had forced him into that time he tried to pimp him out to that Danny kid to find out who had texted Allison from Scotts' phone, when he smells it.   
It's subtle, almost non existent, but he can recognise his own scent from miles away, and it's coming from the back of Stiles' closet.   
  
He pushes away the insane amount of different plaid shirts, scoffing at Stiles' geeky lumberjack fashion sense. Digging down deep under old comics and broken lacrosse gear, before pulling out a sealed bag.   
  
He sits down on the edge of Stiles' bed, eyeing the bag. It's black, so he can't tell what's inside by looking at it, but a small steady waft of his own scent is bleeding from the bag, and he rips it open.   
A soft blue, threadbare sweater with thumb-holes falls into his lap. He's been looking for this shirt for over a month, why would it be in Stiles' closet? And especially why would it be in an airtight bag? He ponders as he lifts the sweater, putting it to his face and taking a strong whiff.   
  
It's like he's been hit in the head with one of those cartoon hammers, as his senses are invaded by layer upon layer of Stiles' scent. Ranging from about as fresh as the bed he is now sitting on, to even as old as at least a month, when the shirt mysteriously disappeared he assumes.  'Stiles had stolen his shirt, with his scent, and is regularly handling it before placing it back into an airtight bag'.   
  
All the air seems to have left his lungs and he feels light headed. He grabs the shirt tight in his hand, like a lifeline as the rug is pulled from under him.   
He has always been aware that Stiles found him objectively attractive. The soft sense of arousal nearly always present in the teenage boy. Yet that, that is not what the shirt smells off. It smells of trust, and adoration. Of happiness and just a little bit of embarrassment.   
And it smells like... And there's that feeling again, that one Derek was sure he would never be able to feel again... Like Home.     
  
 


	4. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff has something to say that Derek didn't know he needed to hear

Derek startles awake at the sound of three rapid knocks on a door. He looks around, confused before he takes in his surroundings. He must have fallen asleep on Stiles' bed, clutching to the scent from his sweater. He gets off the bed quickly, making his way over to the window, ready to leap out as he hears a exasperated sigh.   
  
  
"Derek, son, I know you're in there."   
  
  
Derek freezes in place. _How could he know? Had he been in here while Derek was still asleep?_ He wonders, but throws the idea out in an instant. There is no way the Sheriff would be able to sneak up on him no matter how tired or mentally exhausted Derek had been.   
A few seconds pass without anything happening. Derek still standing at the windowsill, clutching his blue sweater in his hands.  
He isn't sure why he hasn't just left yet, but something is keeping him from it. His ears perk as he hears a soft thud against the door. The Sheriff must have sat down against it he concludes, and he somehow relaxes at the thought.   
  
  
"Scott told me you were the one who brought my son to the Emergency Room."   
  
  
The Sheriff continues.   
  
  
"Thank you."   
  
  
His voice sounds heavy with exhaustion, yet there is gratitude in his tone.   
Derek doesn't even register that he is moving until he is standing next to the door, hand mere inches from the knob. He should really leave.   
  
Even though the Sheriff knows all about the supernatural now, Derek is still a 24 year old ex-murder suspect. Not to mention Alpha werewolf, standing here, shirtless he might add, in the Sheriff's 17 year old sons bedroom.   
Yet he still doesn't leave, but instead leans his head against the doorframe, closes his eyes and asks:   
  
  
"How is he?"   
  
  
There is a soft shuffling sound on the other side of the door before he gets a reply.   
  
  
"His leg is broken."   
  
  
Derek isn't surprised. He hadn't told Stiles' but he had been sure that his ankle had been twisted in ways that were not agreeable with a simple sprain.   
  
  
"They took him up to surgery just before I left around eleven" 

  
the Sheriff says, a sour scent perforating the door, and Derek's head snaps up.   
_Surgery?_ He had imagined maybe a hideous neon colored cast, and Stiles being annoyingly obnoxious for weeks as he healed. He'd even pictured the lanky teen forcing the pack to sign his cast, and making them do everything for him as he himself had his leg propped on a pillow. But surgery hadn't even crossed his mind. _**Crap!**_  
Derek is brought out from his own thoughts as the Sheriff starts to talk again. 

  
"He's getting splints set in to stabilize the fracture. The doctor is optimistic that he will make a full recovery if he can keep still and let it heal properly"   
  
  
The Sheriff lets out a sigh, and Derek has the door open in milliseconds.   
  
  
"It's like he doesn't know Stiles at all!"   
  
  
Derek proclaims, reaching a hand out to the older man, and helping him up from the floor. The Sheriff chuckles wetly and shakes his head.   
  
  
"He's going to climb out of his skin trying to stay still" he replies and Derek nods, lips tugging at the corner, his eyes trained at the shirt he's still holding. _Why didn't I put it on before opening the the door?_ He berates himself internally.  
  
  
"I know he wouldn't ask for it himself. But I know he would really appreciate it if you were there when he wakes up in the morning Derek."   
  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow, not sure what the Sheriff is trying to tell him, but before he can articulate a question, the man answers for him.   
  
  
"I realised long ago, that just because I'm the Sheriff, that doesn't mean my son will conform to the rules of the law... If anything, it has made him even more hellbent on figuring out how many laws he can get away with breaking."   
  
Derek opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off.   
  
  
"I may not agree with many of the things Stiles chooses to get himself into. But this choice..."   
  
  
The Sheriff looks at him pointedly before continuing.

  
"This one I think he earned the right to make for himself"   
  
  
The man places a hand on Derek's shoulder, shaking his head fondly at him before turning and walking down the hallway to the master bedroom.   
  
  
"And Derek..."   
  
  
He adds as almost an afterthought.  
  
  
"Your mother would be very proud of the man you have become, I know I am."  
  
  
Derek stands in the hallway, dumbfound, staring at the door closing behind the Sheriff, a soft whine working itself up his throat.   
After a minute he shakes himself from his trance, the wolf still preening at the Sheriff's words as Derek quickly pulls on the shirt still in his hand and makes his way over to the window.   
He looks around the room one last time, breathing in deeply as a foreign feeling settles on his face.   
For a moment he thinks he has shifted, bringing his hand up to feel for fangs and it takes him a second to realise what is happening. The pads of his fingers running over the upturn of his lips. He's smiling. He ducks his head, snorting at himself in disbelief before he quickly climbs out the window and scales the wall down to the ground.   
  
He still has a few hours before dawn to get ready. He will need them he thinks.   
He needs to look presentable when he sees the boy.  _His boy_ the wolf supplies before he takes off into the night.

 


	5. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up after surgery 
> 
> (Un-betaed so any mistakes are my own)
> 
>  
> 
> I've decided to end this part here, because it can be read as a whole fic. But there will be sequels coming :)

It’s still dark outside when Stiles comes too. His head feels like cotton balls, and his mouth is dry like the Sahara desert.   
He looks around for something to drink, or maybe a call button, when a cup is brought to his lips and a soothing cold liquid bathes his tongue. __ ‘  
Now this is what heaven feels like’ Stiles thinks and hums happily around the cup.    
  
“Small sips Stiles.” An encouraging voice says, as Stiles continues to drink down the refreshing drops.   
  
“There you go!” The voice sounds pleased and Stiles allows himself a moment to bask in the praise before the now empty cup is removed from Stiles mouth.   
The loss of the refreshing ambrosia is much to Stiles annoyance and he makes a disgruntled sound to convey as much to the voice.  
Now referred to as the filthy cup-thief.   
  
The voice chuckles, and it’s like the last cotton balls clears from Stiles’ mind, and he looks over to where the sound is coming from.    
Stiles isn’t sure what he was expecting, but Derek Hale smiling fondly at him, was absolutely not in the ballpark of things he could have imagined.   
So instead of replying like a normal human being ( __ because truly, this is what he reforms to when said big bad is around) , he just kind of stares,   
and maybe gapes like a fish, and there might be some drool, and he knows he should probably be feeling embarrassed about that,  
but right now Derek ‘freakin’ Hale is using his thumb to wipe said drool away from the side of Stiles’ mouth, and;   
  
“OH MY GOD! I’m dead aren’t I? I’m dead and this is like heaven, because why the fuck else would Derek ‘freakin’ Hale be wiping my drool and looking at me fondly?”   
Stiles exclaims, eyes darting around, searching Derek for some kind of confirmation before he bursts into tears.    
Long raw sobs ripping from his lungs as he curls in on himself.   
  
“I'm dead…  Oh god… I’m dead” he repeats, pulse rising and breaths coming in more and more shallow.    
  
“I can’t be dead! Who’s gonna watch my dad Derek? Who’s gonna keep you from sacrificing yourself like the martyr you are next time some big bad comes to town?”   
He’s rambling on, white knuckled fists curled into the sheets as he reaches the point of severe hyperventilation.   
  
And in an instant, Derek is climbing into the bed behind him, hands prying Stiles’ fingers from the sheets and entwining them together   
as he pulls Stiles’ back firmly against his chest, their arms crossed over Stiles’ front, as he starts to rock them softly, coaxing the younger man to relax.   
  
“Feel my breath Stiles, please, you’ve got to slow your breathing or you’re going to pass out” Derek pleads, rubbing circles into Stiles’ hand with his thumb hoping to calm him down.    


 

  
Stiles head is throbbing.    
  
Logically he knows what he needs to do to stop the pain.    
  
Slow down.    
  
Take a breath.    
  
But though logic might be one of Stiles best weapons in the fight against the supernatural, when it comes to himself, logic usually loses out to blinding panic.    
He can feel his vision starting to blur, and the cotton balls in his head are back, and he is sure that this is it, this is the last thing he will ever experience.   
(Which in hindsight makes no sense seeing as he is already dead, but like he said, logic wasn’t his ally right now.)     
  
“You’re not dead Stiles, I’d never let you die!” Stiles thinks the voice sounds sad, and he doesn’t like it.   
But before he can dwell more on why, something clicks, and a rush of fresh air is sucked raggedy into his lungs.  
It burns like hell, and his vision is still swimming, but he sucks another breath, and then another. The world slowly coming back around him.   
  
He can feel a relieved exhale against his ear, and the firm weight at his back relaxes partially.   
Stiles lets his head fall back against a broad chest, warmth blossoming in his chest. 

  
  
“Derek?” He asks quietly. As if he speaks it aloud, it will burst some bubble and he will still be dying.   
The answer comes in the form of a nose nuzzling against the side of his head, and a soft confirming murmur vibrates against his skin.    
  


“I’m really not dead?” Stiles enquires, not sure if he should dare believe that Derek is actually here. In his hospital bed. Holding him.    
  
“Really not…” Derek replies, voice rough. “But you gave me quite a scare there”  He tightens his grip on Stiles momentarily.   
Words full of raw, trembling emotion. And it’s like Stiles can feel the walls of Derek’s emotional fortress crumbling with every word.     
  
“Please don’t do that again”  He finishes softly, almost pleadingly. “I don’t think my heart could take it”    
  
Stiles wiggles softly in Derek’s hold, twisting his body so he can look up at Derek.   
Long nimble fingers coming up to caress a scruffy cheek, and wipe away a stray tear Derek hadn’t even noticed falling.   
  
“Don’t worry Sourwolf. You won’t get rid of me that easily.” Stiles murmurs as he presses his face against Derek's neck and yawns.   
  
“Sleep now, icecream later” He mumbles and Derek chuckles as Stiles smacks him lightly on the chest, shushing him.    
  
“Sleep tight, I’ll be here when you wake up” Derek assures him, before running his fingers through Stiles’ brown locks,   
closing his eyes and getting more comfortable against the hospital mattress.   
It had been an eventful day to say the least, and he was feeling drained himself.  
A few hours of sleep with Stiles in his arms was just about the best thing he could imagine right now.   
  
  
And just as Derek drifts off to sleep, he feels the soft press of lips against his neck. 

 


End file.
